


Magpie

by gonergone



Category: Secret History - Donna Tartt
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-20
Updated: 2013-11-20
Packaged: 2018-01-02 04:24:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1052483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gonergone/pseuds/gonergone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Henry comes back from Italy early and saves Richard's life, he sets things in motion that neither of them would've predicted.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Magpie

**Author's Note:**

  * For [navaan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/navaan/gifts).



In Richard's memory, the time he spent in the hospital tended to bleed together in a mass of fluorescent lights, med times, terrible food on plastic trays, and the blurred disconnected feeling that came when the medication was working. Reading was possible, but it was difficult to remember what he'd read even a few minutes later and every breath ached. 

At first, Henry's presence was only a low hum of background noise, Henry himself utterly unobtrusive, reading silently in the chair beside the bed, as focused and serene as the Buddha. He was there when Richard woke, groggy, and there when he dropped off again, a savior turned protector, watching over him without comment or, Richard thought sometimes, much in the way of interest.

*

As much as he'd hated being a patient, Richard had mixed feelings about leaving the hospital. He was tired of the icy IV and the endless poking and prodding. He was ready to leave. On the one hand, he had no place to go, and certainly couldn't go back to the warehouse. The idea of it filled him with a horror that was almost physical. 

As soon as he was wheeled outside, frowning at the snowy parking lot, with Henry carrying his suitcases, he took in deep, gasping lungfuls of air that immediately produced a coughing fit. Despite that, he felt light and free, happy to come out of the concussion and pneumonia relatively unscathed. 

Henry helped him into the car over his protests, an arm around Richard's waist, guiding him carefully. He ignored the look Richard gave him as he pulled the seatbelt over him and clipped it in as if he was a child. He drove slowly, too, for Henry, which might have made Richard feel warm tendrils in his stomach – it had been so long since someone had taken care of him – if Henry hadn't announced that Richard was coming to stay with him.

Henry hated having people in his space, Richard knew that. He knew he wouldn't be suggesting it for Francis or the twins, that it was motivated by pity. 

He shook his head. "I'll be fine, Henry. Really. You don't have to –"

"Of course I don't _have_ to. It's the only thing that makes sense." Henry said coolly. "You obviously can't be left on your own until the dorms open. I'd prefer to see you alive on the first day of classes."

"The Catamount Motel is fine." 

Henry snorted. "That isn't a place I would wish on my worst enemy. Especially when you've been ill." He glanced at Richard out of the corner of his eye, and the look struck him as oddly calculating. "Besides, what else are friends for?" 

Richard opened and closed his mouth in surprise, then considering. The corners of Henry's mouth lifted for a millisecond in triumph, but he his eyes were back on the road.

They drove the rest of the way to Henry's in silence. 

*

"I'm afraid it's been a couple of years since I've lived with anyone," Henry told him as he unlocked the door. He was still carrying Richard's suitcases, and he dropped them carefully inside the door. He seemed to hesitate as he led Richard inside, kicking the slush and snow off his expensive brown boots. "I found I was somewhat out of practice in Italy with Bunny, but Bunny tends to make even the simplest of things difficult. I don't anticipate that you and I will have any problems."

Richard smiled at the idea of trying to live with Bunny's mess, his half-eaten junk food and inability to respect anyone else's boundaries. "Is Bunny still in Italy?"

Henry gave him a quick, unreadable glance before nodding, carrying Richard's suitcases down the hall as if they weighed nothing at all. "I think so," he said over his shoulder. "He made it clear he planned to remain in Italy when I left, so I don't expect him to return before February. He's never much liked the snow and cold, anyway." There was something in Henry's tone that closed the topic, politely but firmly, and Richard's mouth snapped shut on his other questions. Obviously Henry wasn't quite recovered enough from the experience of living with Bunny to want to discuss it.

He was surprised when Henry put the suitcases down in his own bedroom. He shouldn't have been, he supposed, considering Henry's immaculate manners, though Richard had rather thought that they were close enough friends that such things wouldn't matter quite as much between them.

He sat down on the edge of Henry's bed and looked around the room as Henry went back out to the kitchen, turning on lamps against the afternoon's early twilight as he went. In keeping with the rest of the apartment, the room was sparsely furnished with good pieces. The low bookcase held books in Greek and Latin, as well as old leather bound volumes in what looked like Chinese and Russian. In the closet hung a perfect row of Henry's white shirts. The back of the closet door held the collection of dark ties – a larger collection than Richard had ever seen, except for Francis's messy throng. The dresser and nightstand were both bare. It felt, oddly, a little like he was in a hotel, the empty spaces cold and impersonal. Richard wasn't sure if Henry had tidied up especially for him, or if this was what his bedroom was always like. He had a feeling it was the latter.

There was a soft noise behind him, and when he turned he jumped a bit at seeing Henry standing unexpectedly in the doorway. Henry cocked his head. "Would you like to rest?" he asked solicitously. "Or are you hungry? It's nearly time for dinner. I haven't been to the Food King in a few days, but I'm sure I have some canned soup."

Richard nodded. "Do you want help…?"

Henry held up a hand. "No, you should unpack." He slipped away as silently as he'd appeared, though Richard could hear the cabinet doors shutting and a saucepan clattering on the gas burner.

*

After dinner, Henry brought out a small pile of blankets and made Richard a warm, comfortable nest on the couch. It reminded Richard of days spent sick when he was in school, lying on the couch watching soap operas all day, drifting off to the music and waking up to commercials and his mother bringing him dry toast and generally begrudging his company for the entire day. 

He vastly preferred being at Henry's. Henry didn't fuss over him, being Henry, but he did set a glass of water within reach on the coffee table and get the pillows from his own bed for Richard to use. 

Richard settled down with a Dorothy Sayers book ( _Striding Folly_ , which he'd never managed to finish), but found it was still hard to concentrate. He set the book aside as Henry dropped into the armchair next to him. Henry watched him for a moment before opening his own tiny book and beginning to read aloud in a language that Richard didn't recognize, but which was melodic and beautiful, even in Henry's slightly gravely, cigarette-stained voice. 

As his eyes closed and he began to drift off, Richard was sure he could feel a gentle touch to his forehead.

*

"What made you decide to study the classics?" Richard asked, helping Henry put away bags of food from the Food King, finding his way around Henry's common sense kitchen cabinets. Henry hadn't let him come to the store, and Richard had taken the opportunity for a long bath instead, luxuriating in the warmth of the water and beginning to feel clean after the filthy warehouse. He was seriously considering taking another after lunch.

Henry was folding the paper bags neatly along their creases, his hair hanging over one eye. "I've always rather admired the Greeks. One of the books I found to read when I was a child was Plato's _The Republic_. Of course, it was far outside my comprehension at the time, but I found that what I could understand I embraced with the full vigor of youth. I read more – whatever the local library could provide, which wasn't much. Homer, Sophocles, Archimedes. Then the Romans: Cicero, Eutropius, Horace… the usual. I romanticized all of it, as children do, but that love stayed with me. I was incredibly lucky that Hampden had Julian. I think in any other institution I would've taken a few courses and then dropped the whole idea. I probably would have left school, as there really isn't anything else I feel the need to study. And you?"

"If Hampden didn't have Julian, I'd probably be studying English Literature right now," Richard said honestly. 

"And the world would be lesser for it," Henry smiled. 

Henry slid the last paper bag into place between the counter and the refrigerator and picked up a new bottle of whiskey, leading the way back out to the living room.

Richard dealt the cards, practicing the Faro shuffle that Henry had started teaching him that morning. 

"And what sort of future would you see for yourself, as an English Literature student?" Henry asked.

"Grad school, maybe. Then… teaching?"

Henry raised an eyebrow.

"I'm not even entirely sure what future I see for myself as a Classics student," Richard pointed out.

"You still have plenty of time to sort something out," Henry said, unconcerned, picking up his cards and scanning them. 

Richard swallowed his snort. It was one of the things that Henry would never understand, the terror of having no future, no money, no plan. The worry about his future was a constant itch under Richard's skin, and he envied Henry more than anything because he had never had to worry about it. Henry never had to worry about anything.

They played cards and talked until Richard started to make stupid mistakes, letting Henry win again and again until he picked up a book instead. He went to lie down, and could hear Henry moving around, running water and the sound of dishes being stacked in the draining board. Then soft footsteps and a door closing before silence reigned.

*

Henry's kitchen was full of copper pots and heavy silverware. Nice things, though obviously chosen more for their functionality than anything else. Richard fingered a thin wineglass, wondering if it had been brought from home or if Henry had bought all of these things when he'd left the dorms behind for good. 

He sat down at the card table and drank a cup of tea slowly. Henry had been out when he'd woken up, and in his absence the apartment felt empty, lonely. It was ridiculous, but he’d grown used to Henry’s quiet, shadow presence in the hospital, and having to do without it felt like a privation. That wasn’t fair to Henry at all, and Richard was actually looking forward to heading back to work the next day, to give Henry some of the time alone he clearly was accustomed to. He had to admit, though, that he was enjoying himself in Henry's space, that Henry's everyday company seemed far less stiff and formal than he had even a month or two ago. 

He sipped his tea and made some more, and eventually he heard the car outside, and Henry’s key in the lock. 

He seemed pleased to see Richard up. "How are you feeling?"

"Better." It was the truth. "Do you want some tea?”

Henry shrugged out of his coat and hung it up precisely before following Richard into the kitchen. 

He didn't ask where Henry had been, and the silence stretched out between them, but a comfortable silence. 

Richard brushed off a big of snow from Henry’s collar. "I bet you didn't miss the winter while you were in Italy."

Henry smiled. "I did, actually; there’s nothing quite as picturesque as a New England winter, and I've always been partial to the cold."

"Is that why you came back so early?"

"No." Henry filled the kettle and leaned against the counter. "I was ill. You know I get migraines sometimes?"

Richard nodded, though it had been Francis that had told him about them, not Henry himself.

"I got a terrible one in Rome. I couldn't function, and Bunny was completely useless." Henry looked away, frowning. "I couldn't see the situation improving, and thought it was best to return home before I had another one. I did manage to see a doctor there, the night before I flew out, and he also urged me to return. It's a horrible feeling to be trapped in a foreign country while you can't move without stabbing pain in your eyes, can barely remember your own name. Of course, since I've been back I've been fine." He shrugged.

"I'm sure Bunny was unhappy to see you go."

Henry's expression flickered slightly as bent to fill his mug. "I'm sure he'll manage," he said tightly. "My only concern is how he'll do with the Italians without me to translate everything for him. His Italian was absolutely abominable, and he offended nearly everyone without meaning to, never mind when he was determined to be insulting, which was rather more often than not." 

"You think he'll get himself into trouble?" Richard asked. Bunny was a wrecking ball in social situations at the best of times, barreling through and never considering consequences. Without Henry or someone else to smooth the hurt feelings in his wake, there was no end to the trouble he could get into. 

"I think it's a possibility. I mentioned it to Julian as soon as I got back into the country, and he agreed with me. There is a bigger problem, however: Bunny also loves to throw money around ostentatiously, to make a spectacle. He'd be an excellent target for thieves… though I'm sure it will be fine. At most, he'll likely be mugged for the money in his pocket and possibly learn a lesson." He sipped his tea and signed. "No doubt his parents would love it if that happened. They could tell all of their friends at the country club about what happened when their dear boy went abroad and was robbed by those filthy Eye-talians."

"They wouldn't."

"They probably already _are_. You should've heard Bunny. He wouldn't let the maids in to clean the rooms. He worried about all the wrong things – people in the café, _priests_..." Henry sighed, running a hand through his hair. "It really was a lovely country."

"In his postcards, Bunny seemed to be enjoying himself," Richard told him.

Henry went quiet for a long moment. "I would like to think that he was, though somehow I sincerely doubt it."

Richard didn't know how to respond to that, and quickly changed the subject.

*

Richard lay on the couch reading that afternoon, blankets tucked around him. He was still having trouble with the cold, his extremities especially. Henry sat in the chair next to him, reading another of his funny little books. The only sound in the room was the brisk turning of pages (Henry) or the much slower, almost casual flip of them (Richard). At some point Richard must've dropped off; he woke to the quiet sound of Henry cooking dinner and a blanket tucked securely up to his chin, his head on a fluffy down pillow that hadn't been there before.

*

Nearly a week later they were preparing spaghetti and garlic bread for dinner, cooking in tune with each other, Richard handling the pasta and bread, Henry making a simple sauce from scratch. 

Sitting down to eat, Richard looked up to find Henry eyeing him over the rim of his wineglass. "Your neighbor, Judy. She seems to be around quite a lot." 

Richard frowned. "Definitely not."

Henry looked at him for a long, accessing moment before nodding.

Richard put down his fork. "Why?"

"It's just curious, that's all." He counted off on his fingers. "You like women. You have experience dating. You're not unattractive. You don't seem the type to be single, but you have been since you joined our Greek class."

Richard looked away uncomfortably, feeling the weight of Henry's eyes. He didn't particularly want to discuss his one night stands with anyone, but especially Henry; the idea went against the sterile, interior life Henry seemed to exist in. "I've had relationships before," he explained carefully, "but they've never turned out well. I don't particularly miss dating." 

"It wasn't us, then?"

"You?"

"None of us seem particularly inclined to romance. I wanted to make sure we hadn't," he smiled slightly, "infected you."

"Infected?" Richard raised an eyebrow. "Besides, Bunny and Marion have a pretty committed relationship."

Henry shrugged. "I wouldn't call it a particularly functional relationship, from what I've seen."

Richard stabbed at his spaghetti for a moment. "I could ask you the same thing, then. You're not – I mean – there's no reason why you're single, either." Besides Henry's rather obvious disdain for most of their fellow students, but Richard didn't want to mention that.

"It's not an area in which I have much expertise, outside of books. I've never really considered it important."

"You've never wanted to fall in love?"

Henry's eyes narrowed slightly, and Richard was almost certain he was on the edge of a curt reply when he seemed to draw himself up instead. "No. I've never particularly liked the loss of control that it implies." Henry put his glass down and resumed eating, leaving Richard to wonder what he had almost said instead.

*

They brought the rest of the wine into the living room and drank as they played cards after dinner, as they talked companionably together on the couch, Henry handing Richard the blanket before he settled down next to him. 

*

When Richard woke up that night, sometime around three or four, at first he thought he was still dreaming. He could hear Henry's voice, low and quiet. The bedroom door was half open, and he saw the barest flicker of lamplight and shadows dancing on the wall. He got up quietly and padded down the hall in his bare feet, careful of the floorboards that creaked. The door to the guestroom was shut tight, but he could hear Henry talking to someone on the phone, too quiet for Richard to make out any of the words.

Richard frowned, trying to figure out who he could be talking to so late at night. Bunny? He fell asleep trying to remember the time difference between Vermont and Rome. 

*

He was just about to leave for work, pulling on his boots and scarf, when there was a knock at the door. Henry hadn't had a single visitor since Richard had been staying there.

He opened the door hesitantly, when it was clear that Henry wasn't going to, and saw a stout man in a suit and dark overcoat.

"Henry Winter?"

Richard blinked at him and shook his head. "No. I'll just…" he was hit with a strong feeling of not wanting to invite him in. "I'll just get him."

Henry was in the bedroom, his shirtsleeves rolled up and his hair damp from a bath. He looked up when Richard came in. "Who is it?"

"I don't know."

Henry led the way back to the door, opening it wide. "Can I help you?"

Richard slowly pulled on one glove, then the other, listening intently.

"Mr. Winter, Agent Harvey Davenport, with the Northeastern Regional Division, FBI. I have a few questions to ask you about Edmund Corcoran. I understand you two were in Italy together?"

Richard stopped and stared at him, and then at Henry when he held the door open and allowed Davenport inside. 

"Yes," Henry said calmly. "We were. As far as I know, Bunny still is. I haven't heard from him since I left several weeks ago."

The Agent followed Henry down the hall to the kitchen, and Richard could hear the scrape of chairs against the tile floor. He stood gaping after them for a long moment, tendrils of worry blossoming rapidly in his chest. After a long moment, he slipped out the door and walked quickly to Hampden, his thoughts a mass of confusion.

* 

He found Henry drinking alone in the kitchen that evening, a cigarette burning to ash beside him.

Henry didn't look up until Richard cleared his throat. "What happened?"

Henry sighed. "Bunny's apparently missing," he said, his voice measured. "He was supposed to have called his parents a week ago, so they called the hotel looking for him. When someone went into the room to check for him… well. They believed they found it ransacked, although from what they've told me, and from what I know about Bunny's habits, it's hard to say how much of it was ransacked and how much was just his own poor housekeeping. However, it seems that the pillows and mattress had been slashed open, which I doubt even Bunny would do in a typical fit of pique. Bunny was nowhere to be found, though his clothes and things were there. When I left I made it clear to the hotel that I was leaving and Bunny staying on, so they knew the things weren't mine. They had my address, though not my phone number, so –" he spread his hands on the table, "– here we are."

Richard sat down heavily. "What happened? Do they have any idea?"

"None, yet. I think they were wondering if he just left and didn't bother to bring his things, but no one's seen him at all, and apparently his family is raising a big fuss, calling the governor and Congressman, everyone they know, trying to get some sort of missing persons case started. They insist Bunny would never just go off somewhere without telling them, and I said the same thing. It's not like him at all."

"You think something bad happened to him?"

"I think," Henry said, smashing down the ash and lighting another cigarette, "that there's really no other explanation that makes sense."

"You believe… thieves? But Bunny didn't have anything worth stealing."

"As I'm sure they discovered when – if – they went through the room. Honestly, I'm not entirely certain what to think, but yes, I do suspect thieves. That's what I told the FBI agent, anyway."

Richard was shaken. "How are the FBI involved, anyway?" 

"International missing persons fall under the jurisdiction of the FBI. If it helps, _he_ didn't seem particularly worried. He seemed to think Bunny would turn up when classes started again, that he'd just gone to Ibiza or somewhere on a lark."

Richard knew Bunny couldn't have done that. "Then why was he asking about it?"

"Pressure from the family. He didn't seem particularly happy that I wouldn't back up his theory, either. The fact that they didn't find Bunny's wallet or passport is, to him, enough evidence that he left Italy of his own volition. I tend to disagree."

"Do they suspect he's…" he couldn't say dead, not out loud. "Hurt?"

Henry was watching him closely, his expression neutral. "They strongly suspect it, and I can't imagine there are many other possibilities. No one has seen or heard from Bunny for weeks, and he certainly never used his return ticket home. He has no money of his own, no credit cards, no friends in Europe at all. If he's not at the hotel, where could he be?"

Richard had no answer for that, and after a moment reached out and picked up Henry's forgotten glass, downing the rest in one swift gulp. They sat in silence as the room slowly grew darker around them.

*

A few days later Richard was in the kitchen washing up when there was a knock at the door. He turned the water off, listening. Henry was off in his part of the apartment, and as far as he knew wasn't expecting anyone. Richard walked slowly to the door as the knock came again, peering through the side window to see if it was another FBI agent. Finally he opened the door an inch and was surprised to see Francis.

"Oh, it's you," he said, opening the door the rest of the way. 

Francis raised an eyebrow. "Hello to you, too."

Francis looked just the same, all red hair, bony nose and sharp eyes. Just having him there, back in Hampden where he belonged, was incredibly comforting. Richard hadn't realized, until then, how much he missed all of them, the whole group of them, and how much Francis's presence meant a slight return to normalcy. Richard drank him in like water as Francis unwound a bright silk scarf from his neck, shook a sprinkling of snow off his coat, and tucked a pair of black leather driving gloves into his coat pocket as he hung it up. 

It was only then that Richard noticed how much weight Francis had lost, his clothes hanging off him a bit. His face was sharper, too, and Richard wondered if he'd been ill.

"Do you want some coffee?" he asked. 

Francis shook his head. "I've had a pot or two on the drive from New York. I left as early as I could manage this morning." He hesitated. "I got a call from some sort of agent last night, asking what I knew about Bunny."

Richard nodded, glad he had someone else to talk to about it. Henry didn't seem to like to discuss it, and hated speculation. Francis, on the other hand, was _made_ for gossip and speculation. "Do you think –" he started, but Francis cut him off.

"I actually need to run and talk to Henry for a moment," he said quickly. "He is here, isn't he?"

"He's in the guestroom at the end of the hall."

"I'll be right back, and you can tell me all about Henry rescuing you from a concussion." He smiled, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. "I've been in suspense ever since he mentioned it, since he didn't give me any more details than that – typical Henry. Doesn't like to tell anyone too much."

"Sure," Richard answered, taken slightly aback. He went back to the dishes, frowning. Francis had never been a particularly good liar. Of course it made sense that he'd be upset about Bunny, but Richard had the nagging feeling that it was more than that. 

He turned off the water and was surprised to hear Francis's voice, fast and angry. Richard put away the frying pan quietly, listening intently. He couldn't make out what he was saying, but his words took on a hysterical edge, only to be suddenly cut off by Henry snapping a response. After a moment, Francis spoke again, his tone calmer, though still angry. 

The argument – if that's what it was – went on for quite a while. When the door finally opened and Francis returned to the kitchen, he looked as distressed as Richard had ever seen him.

"It's nearly lunchtime," he said distractedly. "Do you want to come out with me?"

"All right." Richard glanced down the hall, but Francis shook his head. "Just the two of us."

Richard got his coat.

*

Francis smoked the entire drive to the Brasserie, his face white and tense.

"Has the FBI talked to you yet?" he asked once they were seated. 

"No, why?" Richard asked, puzzled. 

Francis shook his head. "They mentioned your name when they talked to me, that's all." 

"Why did they talk to you? You weren't in Italy."

"Just background, I think, about Henry and Bunny's relationship. They probably got my name from the Corcorans. I'm sure they talked to the twins and Julian, probably Marion, too. They're looking into the possibility that Henry may know more than he's saying about Bunny's disappearance." Francis was watching Richard narrowly. 

Richard stared at him. "Why would they think that?"

Francis was silent for a long moment, looking away from Richard. "They were seen arguing, at least a few times. Of course, no one who saw that speaks English, so there was no way to know what they were arguing about. Henry told the agent he doesn't even remember – they are very different people, traveling is fairly stressful, and they tended to argue frequently about nothing at all."

"Well, sure." Richard nodded, thinking back to Bunny's moodiness over the past few months. "We've all seen that."

Francis folded his hands slowly. "Yes, of course you're right." 

Richard could feel that there was something important Francis wasn't telling him. Francis had never been good at keeping secrets. "Well?" he prodded. "Then why do they think it's important?"

"I'm sure they're just following up on all the leads," Francis said carefully. "It's just procedure."

"Henry's not worried, is he?"

"It's hard to tell with Henry. I don't think he's particularly worried, though."

Richard shrugged. "Obviously they'll figure out that Henry had nothing to do with it."

Francis paused and leaned forward, his eyes wide. He had the look he got when he desperately wanted to say something he knew he shouldn't. After a moment he took a deep breath and let it out slowly, biting his lip. "Bunny's parents are coming to town," he said finally, though Richard got the distinct impression that hadn't been what he had been about to say at all.

"Is that bad?"

Francis sighed. "No, it's not. It will just be difficult, that's all. I don't know what I'm going to say to them." He wouldn't say any more, and after a tense silence they talked about other things.

*

Henry was gone when Richard got back, and was still gone when he went to bed that night. In the middle of the night, Richard was awoken by the front door shutting, and listened to the muted sounds of Henry moving through the dark apartment. The footsteps paused outside his bedroom briefly, but retreated down the hall to the guestroom. In the morning, Richard wasn't sure if he'd dreamed it or not.

*

At breakfast the next morning Henry sat and ate as if nothing had happened. 

"I had lunch with Francis yesterday," Richard said finally. 

"Did you?" Henry asked without much interest.

"He seems worried about you." 

Henry did look up, then, watching Richard. "Why?"

"I don't know. I was going to ask you."

Henry shrugged, unconcerned. "He's likely just projecting. Francis has never appreciated people prying into his private affairs, for obvious reasons. And he's nervous by nature, so he's always imagining the worst possible outcome." 

Richard chewed his toast thoughtfully. "What kind of outcome is he imagining?"

"Something horribly melodramatic, I'm sure," Henry said. His tone was neutral, even bored, but when Richard glanced up Henry's stare was intent. Immediately, Henry's gaze skittered away.

"He doesn't think Bunny's okay, then?" Richard asked slowly.

Henry busied himself with draining his mug. "I'm sure he knows enough to expect the worst." He set his coffee cup aside and rose, pushing his chair in gently, leaving Richard alone to contemplate what that might mean.

*

The next day brought the twins home. Richard only knew they were back because Henry mentioned it casually over dinner. He tried to swallow down his disappointment and hurt that Charles hadn't called to say they were back in town.

Dinner was one of the few times Richard saw him. Henry was out of the apartment quite often without explanation, and Richard was left alone to wonder what was happening. Bunny's disappearance had cast a pall over everything, obviously, but Richard had rather expected that it was a storm they would all weather together, that they were all worried and mourning together. It was true that he was the newcomer, that the others had known Bunny longer and better, but he had never expected to be left out of so much. He could hear Henry on the phone much more often, talking quietly and hanging up quickly, and the feeling of being deliberately excluded still, after everything, ranked keenly.

*

Finally, the next day, he was surprised to find Charles at the door, smiling. 

"Henry's not here," he told him, and watched in surprise as Charles's face pinched with anger.

"I didn't come to see him. I came to see _you_. Do you want to get something to eat? I've got a taxi waiting." 

*

Charles chatted with the driver the entire way into town, asking question after question about his family, his job, where he was from. It was what Charles did with strangers, but something about it seemed off, forced. Richard studied him in the dim interior light, and thought he looked pale. He also, like Francis, seemed thinner, strained.

The bar where the taxi let them off was small and mostly empty, containing only a few older men who regarded them dubiously when they came in. Charles, oblivious, picked at a knot in the wooden table with his thumbnail until a waitress came with menus.

"Did the FBI talk to you?" Richard finally asked once she had left.

Charles didn't look up. "Yeah. They talked to both of us, about Bunny and the trip to Italy, whether he had any enemies or anything." He scowled. 

"But he doesn't, does he?" 

Charles seemed to realize how much he was fidgeting and clasped his hands firmly in his lap. "I guess they think he might've made one in Italy, some cultural misunderstanding. Henry's got them looking into that, I guess." He sighed. "We thought it would be easier if we were up here, but with the Corcorans coming…" he shook his head. "They were nice to us, when we went to stay there. I know I always talk about how awful they are, and they can be, I guess, but they're not really _bad_ people. Bunny wasn't a _bad_ person, he could just be so frustrating sometimes, but that's not… he didn't deserve this." He swallowed hard.

The waitress brought their drinks before he could say anything more, and Charles gulped the whiskey with alarming swiftness. 

"Have you seen Marion?"

Charles shook his head. "Not yet, thank God." He licked his lips and looked at Richard. "Did Henry tell you he had one of his headaches while he was in Rome?"

Richard nodded cautiously. There was something intense about Charles's gaze. "He mentioned it. Francis said they were pretty bad."

"Oh, they are," Charles agreed. "But I think that you may be underestimating our Henry. If he wanted to, I don't think there's anything he couldn't do." He picked up the new drink the waitress delivered, his throat working. "If he really wanted to."

They were both quiet for a while after that.

*

"This is all Henry's fault," Charles told him, leaning against him and slurring his words slightly on the ride home. "All of it. It was his idea."

"You mean the trip to Italy?"

Charles's mouth twisted. "Not just that. All of it," he repeated. " _All of it_ is Henry's fault. If anything, he should be the one to deal with the consequences. It's not fair that he's trying to involve everyone."

Richard frowned. "What do you mean, involving everyone?"

Charles's expression shuttered. "It doesn't matter," he said shortly, flushing. 

"Charles, tell me what's going on."

"It's nothing. You're better off not knowing, honestly. I wish I didn't. I wish I'd never heard of Hampden College. I wish we'd stayed at home." He looked like such child then: flushed face, mussed hair, eyes searching and lost. Richard put his arm around him and clasped his shoulder lightly.

"It will be all right."

"It won't though," Charles insisted, his lips trembling. "Nothing will ever be all right again."

*

Richard stumbled in to the dark apartment. He fell onto the bed in all his clothes, tugging the bedspread over himself and falling asleep instantly.

*

He felt awful the next morning. A long shower helped, but it didn't get rid of his growing confusion. He threw his things into the suitcases haphazardly, hurrying. 

When he came out, Henry was sitting on the couch, reading a small black leather bound book. 

"The dorms open today," Richard said, feeling strangely awkward in front of him. 

Henry placed a finger in his book and looked up. "You're welcome to stay through the weekend," he said quietly.

Richard shook his head, doubts circling. 

Henry's gaze was sharp, wary. "You can borrow the car to take back your things," he offered. "The keys are in the kitchen." He looked as if he might say something else, but Richard turned away, rubbing a hand over his face.

The keys were on the counter and he scooped them up, frowning at the empty coffee pot. When he turned around again, he found Henry directly behind him, nearly close enough to touch.

Before he could ask, Henry placed one hand on Richard's chest and leaned forward to press their lips together. It took a moment for Richard's brain to catch up with what was happening. When it did, Richard's eyes snapped closed and he returned the kiss, pressing slightly harder against Henry. 

After a moment Henry pulled away, turning on his heel and leaving the room. Distantly, Richard heard the bedroom door shut behind him. He realized he was still clutching Henry's keys in his right hand, gripping them so hard they'd left an imprint on his skin.

He didn't remember anything about loading the car or the drive to campus. He sat in the car by the tennis courts for a long time, staring out the windshield without seeing anything. 

*

He had expected Henry to be gone when he brought the car back, but he found him leaning against the doorway from kitchen to living room, almost as if he had been waiting. His face was expressionless, and it was impossible to know what he was thinking, though he looked more tired than Richard had ever seen him. 

All at once Richard was tired, too. He tossed the keys back on the kitchen counter, feeling Henry's eyes boring into his back, and after a moment looked up and met his gaze. 

They stared at each other for a long moment, until Richard took the steps that separated them and tilted his head up to fit their mouths together. There was a second when he was sure Henry wasn't going to do anything at all, Henry tense and frowning. He was going to pull back with some muttered apology – what, exactly, he didn't know – when he felt Henry's body relax as if a switch had been thrown. His head tilted, his mouth moved, opening slightly, his hands reaching out to grasp Richard's shirt and hold him in place. 

This kiss was different. That had been clumsy, uncertain. This was more focused. Richard pressed closer, his fingers digging into Henry's shoulders. The kiss broke and Richard took a deep breath, ready to move away, to pretend this wasn't happening. Instead, Henry kissed him hard, his hands clutching harder Richard's hips as his tongue darted into his mouth, making Richard's thoughts stutter immediately. It hit him like a splash of cold water when he felt Henry's hands move from his hips to his ass, cupping gently at first, then with more confidence. 

It was Richard's turn to tense, to turn unsure. When he backed up, Henry let him go, his hands falling away. They blinked at each other for a minute, Henry frowning at him, a calculation that hadn't come out correctly. 

Henry dropped his glasses with a clatter on the table, pushed a hand through his hair. He was watching Richard out of the corner of his eye, and Richard realized Henry was waiting for his reaction – probably waiting for an _overreaction_ , considering how carefully he was not touching him. That was enough to sober him. Richard licked his lips, and was gratified to see the way that Henry's eyes followed the motion. 

It was enough. It wasn't what he'd ever considered wanting, but it was enough. It startled him that it was enough, that his love of soft skin and long hair could be overturned so easily, but it didn't quite shock him. He felt reckless and wanting, his hands moving to cup Henry's face lightly before he had completely decided what he was going to do. Henry swallowed, through nervousness or something else, and closed his eyes. 

Richard took that as an invitation. He pressed against Henry and mouthed at whatever skin he could reach: Henry's cheek, the soft skin of his neck above his shirt. His hands moved down to the (impossibly small, in his present state) buttons on the shirt, pulling at the fabric in frustration. 

If Henry had been hesitant before, it was long gone. His hands were rough as they returned to Richard's body, pressing against his bare skin under Richard's shirt, stroking his chest and stomach. He was watching Richard, too, gauging every reaction. It was the way Henry had been watching him since the night he'd saved Richard's life, and it made something small and warm light inside Richard. He shrugged out of his shirt, jerking his wrists out of the cuffs when they were caught. 

Henry's mouth followed his hands across Richard's chest, nipping lightly at the pale flesh. Henry cocked his head, interested, when Richard gasped, shaking.

Henry moved lower, tracing a path down to Richard's trousers. Richard swallowed hard as Henry, dropping to his knees, looked up at him. Henry cocked an eyebrow at him, and Richard nodded, already breathing hard. 

"I've never done this," Henry said matter-of-factly, "obviously." He unbuckled Richard's belt and ran the pad of his thumb down the solid ridge of Richard's cock, making Richard's legs wobble. Henry watched it with scientific detachment, biting his lip. He did it again and again, until Richard gasped. 

" _Henry_."

Richard unbuttoned his trousers, his fingers thick and clumsy, shoving the woolen material out of the way. He was half holding his breath, afraid to ask for what he wanted. 

Not that he needed to – Henry's eyes were glued to Richard's exposed cock. Frowning in concentration, he stoked the bare cock with his fingers slowly. When Richard moaned, he repeated the motion more firmly, rubbing along the bottom of the head with his thumb. He finally took the head in his mouth and sucked experimentally. 

Richard had to close his eyes. It had been too long, really, and Henry's mouth was hot and perfect. There really was nothing, he thought dimly, that Henry didn't excel at once he put his mind to it. Far too soon, he felt the telltale tightening, pleasure pooling before the surge. "Henry," he hissed, "I – I'm – I can't –" 

Henry pulled his mouth off, continuing to work Richard with his hand instead, watching Richard come across his own belly. Richard rocked back on his heels, sure for a moment that he would fall, gasping for breath.

Henry ran his index finger across the fluid, slipping the finger into his mouth to taste. Richard's eyes closed as he tried to get himself under control. Finally he opened them and gazed down at Henry. "What do you want?" he asked, his voice breathy and wavering.

Henry got to his feet, looking uncertain. That was enough for Richard, who took a deep breath, pulling his trousers back up but didn't bother to fasten them. He used his discarded shirt to wipe away the worst of the mess before placing a hand at the center of Henry's chest, pushing him backward until his back hit the wall.

Richard stroked the skin along the top of his trousers, his mind going blank at what he was supposed to do next. Henry huffed impatiently and shoved down his trousers and rather expensive-looking shorts in one quick movement.

Richard swallowed. He wrapped his hand around the length of Henry's cock, squeezing once, twice, before beginning to pump. He frowned, licking his hand before putting it back on, stroking faster. He was working up a rhythm, Henry beginning to moan, jerking hard in his hand. Eventually, Henry came with a choked-off cry, his body stretched taut before practically collapsing. "Oh," Henry said softly. "I see."

They both caught their breath leaning on each other, Richard using his ruined shirt to clean up Henry as well.

*

They made chicken and rice for dinner. It was shockingly normal. Richard watched Henry move at the stove, looking loose and relaxed, and it was impossible not to remember the taste of his kisses, the low moans and keening need. Almost as if he knew what Richard was thinking, he glanced over and smiled, his eyes smaller and more vulnerable without his glasses. "Can you make some coffee?" Henry asked him. "I need to start on the Greek composition tonight. I probably won't have time tomorrow, with the Corcorans in town." It was such a _Henry_ worry that Richard was reassured – there would be no after-sex awkwardness, at least, no shame or embarrassment. 

"Henry," he said quietly, without looking at him, "what do you think happened to Bunny? Honestly?"

Henry was silent as he scooped the chicken onto a plate and set it on the table. Richard could see the tension in his shoulders, the slightly jerky movement as he turned back to the pan. Finally he nodded once, as if to himself. "I think he's dead," he said, his voice soft.

Richard nodded reluctantly. He didn't want to think about jolly Bunny dead, not that, never that – but it was the only thing that made sense. 

"The police have found no proof of foul play," Henry went on, sitting down and picking up his fork, "and until they do – preferably the body," he said evenly, "until they find that, or blood, or _something_ , they can't do anything at all. And it's been long enough that I don't think they'll find anything like that."

"You don't think they'll arrest anyone?"

"No, though it would be good for me if they did." He sipped his coffee, placing the mug down carefully, precisely. "I'm an excellent suspect from their point of view, of course – the last one to see Bunny alive: opportunity, certainly; means, probably – but they can't find a motive. Of course they wanted to assume that we were lovers, that there was some sort of lover's quarrel – Italians love that sort of thing, really – but Marion and everyone who'd ever known either of us set them straight rather quickly. Unfortunately for them I have proof that I was ill just before I left, too ill to do anything near as strenuous as murder someone and hide the evidence so well. I've no doubt that they'll continue to threaten me for months, if not years, his voice went low, rough: "'You know, son, that there's no statute of limitations on murder cases, don't you? We'll extradite you and you'll stand trial in an Italian court.'" He sighed. "None of it means anything, really." 

"Were you worried? If they had found something, they might have –"

Henry looked at him, his eyes sharp. "No," he said firmly. "There was never anything to be worried about."

*

After dinner, Richard went to put his coat on. 

"Where are you going?" Henry asked frowning.

Richard raised his eyebrows. "I don't need a ride," he told him.

Henry looked at him, measuring. "You might as well spend the night," he said steadily. "You haven't done your Greek prose composition yet, either," he pointed out. "And it's a rather long walk in the snow."

That was true enough, but also completely ridiculous considering how many times Richard had made the walk before. He knew perfectly well that it also had almost nothing to do with why he was eager to stay, nor, he thought, why Henry was asking him to stay. Well, as much as Henry asked for anything.

He hung his coat back up, padding over to sit across from Henry at the table, feeling comforted that he wasn't alone in his desire.

* 

Henry's bed was a single, though it was wider than the dorm beds that Richard had shared more than once. 

*

In his mailbox, Richard found a note from Julian about registration and a form letter from the Dean of Students, informing students about Bunny's disappearance and ending with the hope that the Hampden community would pull together for one of their own. Richard wasn't sure what the Hampden community could do – or would want to do, honestly, for Bunny – but it did touch something in him anyway, that Bunny was missed by the larger world.

*

They were all in the Commons for dinner, and seeing Camilla was not the shock that it usually was. She was still beautiful, and Richard could still imagine all of his old fantasies – life with Camilla, her deft hands and dusty feet, half smiles and blond hair gleaming in the sunlight. He hugged her tightly, smelling hyacinth. He loved her still – probably always would, but from the moment he approached the table and saw all of them gathered there, his attention was fixed on Henry, a compass pointing unerringly in a single direction.

"How were the Corcorans?" he asked, sitting down.

Francis answered. "Worried, of course. Not _crazed_ with worry, or anything, but –"

"They're upset," Charles finished, looking directly at Henry.

"The FBI hasn't had any new leads, so they're beginning to talk about a memorial service," Henry added smoothly. "I think they will feel better when there's been a ritual to commemorate their loss."

"You would," Charles muttered darkly. Richard saw Camilla shoot him a warning look.

There was an awkward silence, though Henry continued eating his roast beef, unruffled.

*

After dinner, as they went down the steps, Henry turned to him. "Did you need to pick up anything from your room?"

From the corner of his eye Richard saw Francis's head snap up, staring. He didn't really stop to consider how straightforwardly Henry made the assumption that Richard was coming home with him, and how much the assumption warmed him. 

It never occurred to him to refuse. 

*

He fell asleep listening to Henry breathe behind him, breath that was shallow and steady and awoke to the sound of something frying. He could smell coffee and bacon. He rolled over to find Henry's spot behind him empty and cool. Sitting up, stretching languidly, he smiled.

*

As was his custom, Julian arrived a few minutes late to class on Monday. There was silence in the room as they waited, everyone carefully not looking at each other.

Julian smiled when he entered the room, lightening the mood instantly. " _There_ you all are," he said, smiling, though Richard thought the smile looked rather subdued. "I'd hoped to meet with you all before our first session, but of course there were other things demanding attention." He glanced around the room, meeting all of their eyes in turn. "Shall we begin?"


End file.
